


Loser

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: wincest drabbles [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Sex, Competitive sex, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Library Sex, M/M, calf holster, first to come loses, i do kinda feel that deserves its own tag, in my mind at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	

‘This isn’t quite what I meant,’ says Sam, but he’s grinning, soft, hair falling into his face, open smile a sort of soft possession and Dean shivers, arches up into Sam’s hips. He’s on his back on one of the library tables, or at least part of him is; his ass is mostly hanging off it and so are his legs, boots up on the seat of a chair pulled a bit away from the table; and Sam’s leaning over him, legs spread one on each side of the chair, braced wide enough that his body is snugged close down over Dean’s. One of his hands is planted hard on the table, fingertips slipping and bumping against the base of a lamp. The other is down between Dean’s legs, one finger pressing lip-bite slow into Dean’s ass.

‘ _Jesus_ ,’ says Dean, and clenches, and Sam laughs silent and soft down into Dean’s face.

‘Yeah?’ he says, teasing, still with that lazy grin of delight. Dean sets his teeth and gets both his hands around Sam’s ass, pulls his cheeks apart and gets two thick fingertips pressed up against Sam’s hole.

‘Gimme the lube,’ he says, tight, through his teeth.

They’re both still mostly in their clothes - boots still on and jackets, too, just jeans pushed down or pooled around ankles. Dean’s calf-holster is clanking distractingly against the back of the chair whenever he shifts his leg. Ten minutes ago they were coming downstairs, carrying bags from Best Buy and Walmart, Sam talking about ways they could try to boost the router efficiency for the bunker’s wifi.

‘…compression issues, maybe, but upping the power might be simpler?’

‘Sam, some things, I ain’t gonna quite - get there,’ Dean says, ‘I mean, it’s fine, I can - I get it, enough to use it. Functional usage. Dad-bod it.’

‘I don’t think that’s how you use that term,’ says Sam, dryly.

‘–anyway,’ says Dean, flicking a dismissive wave across the kitchen, ‘it’s cool man, you’re better at that, I’m better at - other stuff.’

Sam raises an eyebrow over a neat pile of coffee cans and ammo.

‘Like?’ he says, not arguing but - flirty, maybe. Dean’s mouth opens a little and his eyes flick to the side.

‘Uh,’ Dean says, caught a little off-guard, then the moment ticks over and he catches Sam’s tone, flicks a glance up from under his lashes, ‘um. Definitely, um. Kissing.’

‘You are very good at kissing,’ says Sam, faux-placating, and dimples. Dean bristles slightly.

‘Fingering,’ he says, brashly, a little louder than he meant to, coming around the island. ‘I’m better at fingering.’ He comes right up into Sam space, smiles a little crooked, cocks one eyebrow.

‘Yeah?’ says Sam, and doesn’t move. ‘Gonna show me sometime?’

‘WoAH,’ says Dean, faux-offended and maybe a little actually offended, ‘those’re fighting words, Sam. holy - _Samuel_!’

So Sam hadn’t meant, like, right now, but Dean wasn’t gonna let this stand for even a second and Sam insisted it wasn’t going to prove anything unless they both had a chance and Dean said well but if he went first of course Sam’s would seem better cause it would be freshest in their minds and Sam said fine, I’ll finger you first then and Dean sort of went all flushed and his face formed into different lines, hungry lines, and then they were staggering into the library and here, well, here they are, in some sort of undeclared impromptu, erm, fingering race.

‘The lube, Sam! Lube,’ says Dean, again, and Sam shuffles his hand on the table, pushes the bottle down towards Dean. He’s still got his middle finger two knuckles up inside him, pressing distractingly close to Dean’s prostate, and he’s doing this fucking kneading thing that Dean doesn’t need right now, ok, not till he’s at least caught up, not till he’s inside Sam.

‘Sam,’ he says, glaring generally at the ceiling, ‘fuck, dammit.’

‘Wha,’ says Sam, all dirty innocence, ‘do y’like that?’

‘I hate you,’ says Dean, with feeling, gets lube on his fingers finally and presses two together, ring and middle, up against Sam, presses more, waits for the muscle to yield a little. Sam grunts, shifts his boots on the floor, twists his hand a little and gets another finger up into Dean and now he starts working them in earnest, slow deliberate thrusts, deep enough that the web between his fingers presses up right against Dean’s rim. Dean swears, arches his back, scrabbles with his boots on the seat of the chair, and when Sam yields, flutters just a little, he pushes his fingers in fast, arms gone all taut and straining, one hand pulling Sam’s ass wide open and holding it there, red marks streaked across the pale skin of Sam’s ass. He gets his head up, seals his mouth over Sam’s nipple, and Sam’s whole body jerks a little, but he says

‘Rules!’

‘Didn’t use my hands,’ says Dean, breathless, hitching his body up harder so he can press his fingers further in, rub his thumb a little up Sam’s perineum.

‘Don’t touch _at all_ ,’ Sam breathes back, and he’s pressing forwards to get away from Dean’s fingers but it just makes his cock brush against Dean’s belly, slip up against Dean’s cock, full and thick and twitching a little to the rhythm of Sam’s fingers inside him. Sam groans, long, and Dean does too.

‘Now who’s touching,’ he says, and gets the index finger of his other hand wriggled up beside the two already inside Sam. 

‘It’s my _dick_ ,’ says Sam, with an effort of concentration. ‘I’m not sure where else you’d like me to put it.’

‘ _Well_ ,’ says Dean, meaningfully, and Sam laughs and then he’s suddenly not, is pushing back onto Dean’s fingers and his face is going pinker and he pivots his wrist a little so his fingers stay deep inside Dean but the heel of his palm comes up and brushes light over Dean’s balls where they’re drawn up tight against the root of his cock and Dean pulls Sam tighter against him, gets the three fingers in just a little deeper but it’s just - it’s just right, ok, it’s all he needs, cause Sam fucking gasps and Dean’s barely even moving his fingers, he’s just _there_ , thick and pulling and pressing inside Sam, and Sam swallows and looks down and says

‘-Dean,’ (breath) ‘I’m gonna win.’

‘Bullshit,’ says Dean, and he’s trying to ignore the feel of Sam’s hand brushing against his balls and the way Sam’s knuckles are pressing just _there_ , fuck ‘rules, Sammy, no hands no mouth no nothing, nothing else.’

‘Not gonna use it like that,’ says Sam, and he smiles down at Dean like sin. ‘Just gonna say - real quick - how - fuck, Dean, you feel so _good_ , you’re gonna make me come _so hard_ , gonna - oh - _christ_ I’m close - wanna feel you come so bad, please, Dean, _please_ , come on my fingers, yeah, _yeah_ , come on your brother’s fingers you hungry little -’

‘You fuck,’ says Dean, like a crack of delight, and loses all over Sam’s chest.


End file.
